


we're the end of the world, baby

by KilltheDJ



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilltheDJ/pseuds/KilltheDJ
Summary: With a sandstorm raging outside, scrapes from rather ridiculous stunts, and the rest of the Fabulous Killjoys out of the Diner for some reason or another, the Kobra Kid and Sandman ban together to make the most of it. With dominoes. And Kobra reminisces - just a little, because he's got dominoes to help put up!
Relationships: Kobra Kid/Mr. Sandman (Fall Out Boy)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 14





	we're the end of the world, baby

**Author's Note:**

> there's like. One line with implied sexual content toward the end; and other than that just some canon-typical stuff and dumbasses being dumbasses. injury ment of course.

“You’ve got a scrape,” Kobra mumbled, leaning forward to yank the old bathroom cabinet open - there was a flood for one reason or another a long time ago, and the wood had swollen, so it was far more difficult than it should’ve been. 

(Living in a desert did that, he supposed. Everything was more difficult than it should’ve been. Except this. This was right. This was  _ right.)  _

Sandman hummed; his voice cracked from their respective dry throats, but taking shelter from a sandstorm could only do so much - especially in the Diner, when the front window had blown out and they’d scrambled to get everything boarded up in the kitchen. “So do you. You need to let your shoulder heal, y’know.” 

“My shoulder isn’t torn and bleeding, thank you very much.” 

It was easy to banter. It was easy to banter and to pour hydrogen peroxide on the cotton swab in Kobra’s hand, pressing it gently to the outer side of Sandman’s forearm; the  _ scrape  _ was more like a gash, a mix of slamming it into the doorway and eating pavement out at the Witch’s Garden when they’d went to drop off some flowers. 

Kobra’s shoulder, on the other hand, was the result of a two-hundred-pound bike falling on top of him at forty miles an hour and the entire brunt of the fall ending up on his left shoulder; it was still stiff to move and he couldn’t pick anything up with it, but it was true; he wasn’t bleeding. 

Neither of the injuries mattered all too much; not the first or the last time they’d get hurt, but one of the only times they’d get the time and safety to lick their wounds, kiss away the injury until it was all butterfly kisses and whispered nothings that sounded a hell of a lot like  _ I love you.  _

( _ I love you  _ wasn’t something they said in the Zones. It was either  _ pastel  _ or  _ carrying a torch,  _ whatever it took to not say  _ love.  _ In fact, it was more common to say it to your friends rather than a romantic love. Kobra himself hadn’t said it to either. Then again, he filtered through relationships like one filtered through CDs.) 

Sandman pressed his fingers over Kobra’s palm, gently helping to rinse the sand and dirt out of the scrape, leaning his head into Kobra’s shoulder; he was sitting up on the sink itself, considering stall bathrooms didn’t give all too much sitting space, but with a little slouching on both their parts, they made it work. 

(They  _ always  _ made it work. That’s why they always drifted back toward each other, time be damned.) 

Silence. 

The silence was never comfortable, never anything that meant more than  _ caution,  _ but… Kobra didn’t mind. He didn’t  _ need  _ to be angry. Didn’t need to exhaust himself until he crumpled underneath the weight of his own raging heart just to get a say in the matter, because there was no  _ say  _ at all. 

“Where is everyone else?” Sandman mumbled, eventually, about three minutes as they simply just stood there, the cotton swab and hydrogen peroxide disinfecting the wound far longer than it needed to, simply because it was  _ held there  _ for longer than it needed to be. 

Kobra shrugged, finally tossing the cotton swab to the overflowing trash can in the corner of the bathroom. “I think Jet said they were goin’ on a run? Ghoul might be out causin’ problems for no good reason, and Pois is probably…” 

“Searching for you?” Sandman snorted, raising a brow, and  _ damn,  _ Kobra had to resist the urge to lean forward and press a quick kiss to his temple; they weren’t… friends, and they weren’t lovers, and they didn’t know what they were, exactly, but they didn’t  _ do that.  _

Kobra shrugged again. He needed to get better about that; he could see the freckles dotting his shoulders in the parts of the mirror that Sandman wasn’t covering; the freckles were nearly covered up by the sunburn. 

Yeah, maybe it would’ve been a good idea to radio in that he was intending on disappearing for a few days. 

Poison got (rightfully) pissed whenever Kobra disappeared and didn’t tell anyone, but it was a habit that he just hadn’t figured out how to break, not quite yet. 

Sandman sighed, lifting his forearm as Kobra took some of the old bandages out of the sink; maybe it was a little nasty, but they didn’t exactly have the best medical supplies lying around, and the last time they’d used these bandages was when Ghoul had sprained his wrist and it swoll up to the size of a watermelon. 

(It didn’t have blood all over it, so it seemed like it was good enough, right?) 

Kobra tentatively wrapped the bandages around it, far more than the wound called for, but it was easy enough and maybe he wanted to savor the sweet taste of his moment on his tongue; it was rare they got alone time and it was even rarer for that time to be spent in a comfortable silence without the weight of the world resting on their shoulders. 

The Witch could grant them a break every once in a while. 

“Y’know,” Sandman started, drawling out his syllables with a goofy grin that  _ still  _ made Kobra damn-near buckle at the knees. “We do have the entire Diner to ourselves. D’ya know what we could  _ do  _ with that alone time…?” 

Kobra returned the grin all of a sudden, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” 

“I think so,” said Sandman, solemnly - before jumping off the sink and sprinting out of the bathroom, banging his shoulder into the wall from neglecting to brace for the term. 

“Poison’s dominos!” They shouted, vaulting over the various obstacles in the kitchen, hallway, and open closet, all the way down to Poison and Ghoul’s room. 

The door was closed, of course, but considering neither of the owners of the said room were home, Kobra fumbled with the door knob for all of two seconds before throwing it open; it banged against an AKA Loretta poster on the wall, but he didn’t mind, rushing forward to the bedside, where Poison kept that damned box of dominos. 

Kobra didn’t know when it had become a race, but it was a race, and Sandman didn’t mind slamming into Kobra’s shoulder, his fingertips brushing against the top of the box. 

Of course, Kobra shoved him back, more swatting, childish hands than anything, but it still shifted Sandman, his grasp on the top of the box crashing to the floor. 

Whether he’d realized it or not, Kobra was half-sitting on Poison’s bed, smugly holding the box of dominos over Sandman’s head as he stood up; Sandman was only barely taller than Ghoul, so Kobra had a good eight inches of height over him. 

(The bonus points of  _ tall people disease, you short little bastard,  _ as Jet would say.) 

Sandman huffed, crossing his arms with a childish pout. (The entire thing was childish.) 

(Didn’t they deserve to be childish?) 

“You motherfucker,” Sandman mumbled, glaring. “Get the fuck down here with those so we can cause problems on purpose.” 

Kobra grinned, just as smug as before, leaning over to accentuate how much  _ taller  _ he was. “I’m  _ already  _ causing problems on purpose.”

“But you’re not causing problems on purpose  _ with  _ me and I think that’s selfish and stupid of you. If you come down here with those dominos I’ll, like…” Sandman thought for a moment, gaze drifting off as he got lost in thought, and came back with a self-satisfied smile that absolutely lit up his face. “I’ll give back that hoodie I stole a year ago!”

Hoodie, hoodie… Oh. 

Kobra stuck his tongue out, mimicking Sandman from earlier. “You mean my Red Dawn hoodie? I was looking for that!”

“Hey, you gave it to me!”

“I let you borrow it so you didn’t freeze your ass off!”

“And you didn’t ask for it back,” Sandman grinned, matter-o-factly, having seemed to drop the  _ stealing the dominos from Kobra  _ idea and gesturing him to get off the fucking bed before he fell or did something equally stupid, and Kobra, cautiously, did so. 

Sandman did not, in fact, try to steal the dominos from Kobra when Kobra jumped onto the ground, so that was a good sign. He wasn’t done talking, though. “What are we gonna make with ‘em? I say we make a track runnin’ through the Diner.” 

“But the sandstorm means, like, the entire front room is cut off,” Kobra frowned, more of a  _ pout  _ than intended. “We can’t build  _ anything  _ through the whole Diner.” 

“The sandstorm means we have the time to build shit before the others get back, though!”

Well, Sandman had him there. “... A chain reaction, then. From, like, the top of the cabinets to… To Jet’s room! Sunflower, you have a marble, right? There was a marble in your pocket earlier.” 

(Kobra simply knew this because they’d been a little hot and heavy earlier. And, you know, it was fun to stick his hands in other people’s pockets when he knew it was more of a childish irritation to them than anything. Poison still didn’t let him do that, but Poison was so touch-sensitive - and  _ repulsed  _ \- that’d it be rude as fuck to try, anyway.)

Sandman rolled his eyes, but nevertheless pulled a small, silver, metal marble out of his pocket; it reflected the shitty lighting of the kitchen, and with the box of dominos in Kobra’s arms, it was the perfect storm. 

Metaphorically, of course, and not the  _ actual  _ storm raging outside the shitty plywood covering the doorway to the kitchen. 

Maybe  _ they  _ were the perfect storm. 

Sometimes, Kobra remembered why he fell in love with Sandman in the first place, knocking stuff off shelves in the kitchen to replace the items with dominos and marbles and pulley systems and, by the fridge and the dishwasher, a bucket, for some reason or another. 

(The only reason they’d even split apart was opposing tempers and young, dumb  _ stupidity.  _ That and Kobra died for the first time two months later, before they could talk things out. The other break-ups and get-togethers and no-strings-attached weren’t subject to his thoughts.) 

The storm would last another day or so. 

The string of dominos would last one-minute-and-forty seconds. 

The photo taken of the dominos falling because Sandman had tripped into them would take three seconds to shoot. 

Eternity was in Sandman’s smile, though, and the two of them lying breathlessly on the floor with toppled dominos and a Polaroid camera in Kobra’s hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> >:3 dumbasses being cute. end of story adlkfjasldkj. thoughts !!!


End file.
